"The Woman in White," he offered with a rushed breath, noting that her grin stretched slightly.
"One of my favourites," she told him. "And how-
"Don't get all bloody enthusiastic," he warned her with a low tone. "The level of writing is below that of Wizard and Witch authors."
Her smile fell and she turned her back to him to complete the preparations for what appeared to be stew. "Do you really believe Purebloods to be superior to Muggle-borns, Malfoy?"
He quirked an eyebrow at that. His stony eyes roamed her shoulders and spine, searching for any clue as to why she had asked such a stupid question. "You know I do, Granger," he answered proudly, but there was an odd throb in his chest as he spoke. "Don't ask piss-poor questions when you're meant to have some brains in there."
An almost disappointed sigh left her mouth. "Then can I make a suggestion please?" she murmured softly, fidgeting with the hem of her too-big, red jumper.
There was her sodding please again; unwelcome and just another reminder of how pathetically pure she was. Somewhere at the back of his brain lingered the memory that he'd intended to argue with her, but here he was again; conversing with her in a way that should have made him vomit. But at least he felt slightly more normal. More human. Just like her shower-sighs, these...almost civil moments seemed to remedy his pulsing headaches.
"You can make all the suggestions you want," he shrugged nonchalantly, his scowl wasted on her back. "But the likelihood of me agreeing to any of them is obviously next to nothing."
She turned back around and her features were calm and soothed, but he could see the flurry of thoughts spinning behind her eyes. She really was so interesting to observe at times such as these; like a cryptic puzzle with no obvious reward. Everything that buzzed in her heart was so willingly reflected in her autumn-hue gaze, something he just couldn't get his head around. It would be wise for her to keep as much hidden as possible; especially from someone she despised. Someone like him.
"After you've finished the book," she spoke slowly. "I would like you to read Martin Luther King's autobiography."
His brow lowered with caution. "Why?"
"I think you would find some of the concepts interesting," Hermione offered, her eyes raking down his body from head to toe. "It's just a suggestion."
With that, she wandered out of his sight and disappeared into her room, leaving Draco reluctantly intrigued by her random request. He wouldn't read it, of course, if only out of spite.
.
.
Hermione didn't have time to mull over her conversation with Malfoy, as she was greeted by a very familiar owl pecking relentlessly at her window pane. She rushed over on anxious feet, throwing open the latch to let the beautiful bird inside.
"Hedwig," she cooed affectionately as Harry's faithful pet dropped the letter in her palm and gave her knuckles a soft nuzzle. "Give the boys my love."
The Snowy Owl never waited for a response as it was too risky to waste the precious time, but Hermione always felt disheartened as she hastily took back to the skies. She would have given anything to write a reply, but it had been agreed that it was far too dangerous to exchange more parchment than could be helped. If she ever discovered anything that could be useful for the boys, she had to pass it on to McGonagall, and she would find a means to deliver it to Harry and Ron. These rules were strict, and she naturally followed them; albeit begrudgingly.
Merlin, she missed them...
The letter was scratchy in her palm, and as much as she wanted nothing more than to tear it open there and then, she couldn't. She'd promised Ginny at the beginning of term that they would read all the messages together. If there was one person who was coping slightly worse than Hermione, it was the Weasley sister. It was her boyfriend and her brother after all, the girl had every right to feel lost.
Hermione shrugged on her robes and carefully tucked the letter and her wand into the pocket before she left her room. A quick scan of the kitchen and the sitting area informed her that Draco must have retired to his room for the remainder of the evening, so she quickly left her dorm, heading for Gryffindor Tower.
Ten minutes later and she was sat on Ginny's bed with the redhead at her side, nervously fingering the ends of her fiery locks. The only other resident of the room, Parvati Patil, was conveniently absent, possibly shacking up with Dean Thomas after their recent attempt at a relationship. The privacy was welcomed by both witches as the letters tended to rouse some emotional reactions, and only a select few knew that her two best friends were in contact.
"Ready?" Hermione sighed, not waiting for a response before she ripped away the envelope and unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanning the brief paragraph.
Girls,
All is well. Not much to report.
Working on something but it might be nothing.
As always, don't worry.
Miss and love you both.
H&R
As always, it was short and to the point, lacking any detail in case it was intercepted. The words were scribbled in Harry's handwriting this time, and Hermione watched Ginny trace her fingers across the blunt sentences with tears already beading between her lashes. She felt her own eyes burn with the inevitable pining, and it wasn't because of what was scrawled across the parchment. It was because of what wasn't on the parchment.
.
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